Fractured Self
by NightChild01
Summary: YAOI! Deathfic! Death…that is a thing that we all wish that we never have to deal with, ever. But it is inevitable and cannot be avoided for long….


Fractured Self

By: NightChild

***

            '_Am I really this far gone? Am I really beyond help? Can I really not stop?_' thought the boy who sat on the cold, tiled bathroom floor, surrounded in a deep puddle of his own deep red blood. He was getting cold…. He didn't remember how it had gotten that far…yet he did.

            '_It had all started nearly three years ago…_

            _'It had been a beautiful, warm summer afternoon. I was lying next to my love…and was chattering endlessly about something…what? Well, that didn't matter. I was happy…happier than I'd been in a long time._

_            'Then it happened. My happiness was shattered like a fine crystal goblet falling to a marble floor (that was really deep of me, wasn't it?). My lover had smiled at me--something that he didn't do often--and had turned to give me a kiss…but…his cobalt blue eyes had suddenly gone blank and he fell into the long grass that we were sitting in._

_            '"Heero!" I screamed, eyes filling with tears as I reached for my still love; Heero. But, Heero didn't move. Didn't breathe. Only bled…._

_            'Then, there was nothing. No Heero for me. No one for me to constantly annoy with my chatter. No one to hold onto when I awoke from another nightmare. I felt my eyes fill with more tears--and they splashed down my face--with those thoughts. I didn't know how to go on._

            '_That's how it started_' He thought with a shaky, frail laugh. He'd lost a lot of blood this time…more than the other times. Yes, there had been other times. Lots of other times. He had scars all over his body now.

            He smiled bitterly, but it was weak. "Heero, you'd really call me 'baka' for this, wouldn't you?" his vision was going blurry now. It wouldn't be long…

            _'The others had tried to help me. And I let them believe that their efforts were helping, but they really weren't. Loosing Heero had left me half-dead. I couldn't even think without having my chest clench up and the tears fill my eyes again. I…I just couldn't do it. But I hid it from them. I hid my self-inflected wounds from them._

_            'Two years had passed since I had lost Heero. But it still hurt like hell. I could hardly breathe with the memories of it, sometimes. I was sitting in one of my favorite chairs one sunny day…sometime in the dead of winter (strange, isn't it?) when I had one of those sometimes and I thought that I was really going to join him. But Quatre had came into the room and I had to put my brave face back on, suck it up. I couldn't let him know how much I still hurt. I think he knew though, but he never said anything about it, though._

_            'Soon after he left the room, I fled to the bathroom that hid my secret. My bloody, painful secret. I dug through the cabinets until I found my straightedge razor, then I plunked down on the floor, and rolled up the sleeve of my shirt. I sat there looking at the thin, pale scars that crisscrossed my arm like some sort of sick spider's web and set my jaw as I placed the razor on my skin. It was cold, and it was easy to tell that it was sharp because it was drawing a little blood just sitting on my skin. I closed my eyes, added a little more pressure… "Duo?" Quatre called through the door of the bathroom._

_'I hurriedly hid the razor, tugged my sleeve down, and stood up, not noticing that my shirt was of a light color that day and that the blood (which wasn't much!) was seeping through. "Yeah, Q-man?" I called back, with my fake-cheerful voice and smile set._

_            'I heard a shuffling noise, like he was shifting closer to the door, "Are you alright?"_

_            'Nearly laughing at the irony of it all I said (in the fake-cheerful voice), "Yeah…I'm fine. Why?"_

_            'Shuffling noises again. "I…I was just wondering, that's all." He sounded so concerned. More shuffling noises. "Dinner will be ready soon." Then his footsteps retreating to where they came from. I sighed; I would have to wait to do it until later, after they were asleep._

_            'Eventually, probably after about twenty minutes, I heard Quatre call for dinner. I was still in the bathroom, sitting on the floor again, but the razor was in its' hiding place. I sighed and started to get to my feet, groaning slightly from my stiff knees trying to straighten out. I opened the door and headed for the kitchen._

_            'When I got to the table and sat down in my usual spot, next to the empty chair that used to be Heero's. Tears tried to work their way to my eyes, but I blinked them back. I couldn't let the others know that I was still in this much pain, it wasn't normal for it to still hurt like it was yesterday after two years._

_            'I reached for something (was it green beans?) and noticed Quatre's eyes dart to my arm. I gulped slightly and spared a quick glanced there myself. It was the blood, from earlier, in the bathroom…' _He shook himself out of his memories--or thoughts--feebly. When did his eyes close? Were his eyes closed? When did it get so cold…? He tried to pry his eyes open, but found that they were already open.

            Struggling for breath now, he groped around in the darkness with numb, cold fingers. "Is this like to die?" he tried to ask, but no sound would come out. He was scared…he regretted his decision to do this. He let his mind sink back into the memories that it seemed so fond of…

            _'It was six months ago. It was nearing spring. I sat outside under a tree, just staring off into nothingness (which I had been doing a lot) and ignoring everything around me. I was remembering how I had started to cut myself deeper and deeper lately, and more often. I think the others had noticed. But they probably hadn't, they had their own lives, after all._

_            'I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into emerald green eyes. "Hi Tro." I said with my (obviously) fake-cheerful voice._

_            'He looked at me closely. "Is there something wrong?"_

_'He talked…wow…that had to be his word quota for the day. For some reason I couldn't keep those thoughts from my head as I shook it. "No…nothing's wrong. Where's Q?" I tried to change the subject._

_            'It worked. "He's inside, cooking."_

_            'I could tell that Trowa was having to force himself to speak, so I just nodded and went back to staring off into nothingness…'_ He hated it how he kept slipping into memories like that…but he couldn't really help it. He wasn't in control of his mind anymore. He glanced at the floor and noticed that the puddle of blood around him had grown. Had his sight come back? He felt bad for ruining Quatre's nice tile…but…he couldn't really help that now.

            He felt his strength waver and he slumped over onto the sort of congealed blood coated floor. He was really going to die. He smiled weakly. He'd see Heero again…if he was lucky…but he wasn't that lucky, now was he? He really didn't think that he was going to the same place that Heero was at. He was probably going to hell--if there really were such a place--and then, he would never, ever see Heero again. He felt tears fill his eyes and spill over his bloodstained cheeks. He really, really wanted to see Heero, have Heero hold him. Just have Heero be there.

            He coughed, he could tell that he had coughed up blood from its' distinct taste in his mouth. He shuddered from the cold. When had it gotten so bitterly cold? He…he couldn't remember. He felt numb. "I-I…I'm…coming, Heero…" He smiled a dazed smile and his head lolled toward the ceiling, his eyes sightless. He didn't feel anything…he didn't breathe…he didn't move.

            ***

            AN:

            Special thanks to Vi for the title and helping me decide if the fic was done or not…and a huge hug for her, too. Don't ask where I got this idea, my angst-muse and a plot-bunny attacked me and I had to write it.

            Let me know if you liked it or not.


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